The Night We Never Met
by Michelle
Summary: This one is different for me. I ignored the rest of my continuity and just wrote it. Because I wanted to. I hope you like this one.


The Night We Never Met

Ezra Standish was alone. 

He had been all his life. His mother, if one could call her that, passed him from house to house in the summers. And when he wasn't at some distant relative's house, he was in another expensive boarding school, paid for by his mother's current spouse. He had gotten kicked out of sixteen in the states, begging for his mother's attention. But the only purpose that had served was to get him shipped off to various school's in Europe. 

At eighteen he was engaged to the "perfect" woman. Two weeks before the wedding he'd discovered she had a dozen boyfriends all around the globe, and had agreed to marry Ezra only because he was the richest. 

His mother wanted Ezra to be a lawyer, or a doctor if that didn't work out. He decided to become a FBI agent. 

Right away he could see he'd made a mistake. It wasn't the job itself, he loved working undercover and his background made him perfect at it. There was no man on the planet that Ezra couldn't imitate. No, it wasn't the work, it was the loneliness. 

In six years he had worked at ten different offices. The first three years weren't so bad. He'd made one or two acquaintances, for they could never be called friends, at each branch office. But lately, he'd been transferred, sent undercover, completed a job, and then transferred again. 

This time was no different. He'd been in New York less than a week before given his new assignment. He was going undercover as a high-stakes dealer for a mob-run casino in the city. 

He sat at the table, dealing cards with effortless grace. If nothing else, his mother had taught him how to gamble. 

It had taken him almost a month, but he was finally gaining access to some higher level officials through his dealing. This Friday, he was slated to attend an extravagant ball, really a display of wealth, given by the god-father himself. He was just sorry he had to attend alone. 

But, it was good that he was getting somewhere. It meant he would be pretending to be Ezra Simpson for that much less time, and go back to being Ezra Standish. 

"Forgive me for not expressing my infinite joy." he thought as he dealt another hand to a group of bosses and their eye candy. 

He was stifling back a yawn when he noticed a young brunette at the end of the table. 

He hadn't seen her before, which normally wouldn't shock him, these guys changed women more than they changed their underwear. What shocked him was that she motioned to be dealt into the next hand. As this was a mob-only room, it was a safe bet that she was an important figure in the hierarchy. 

She was about five foot six, he estimated before she sat, with a nod in her direction. She had wavy brown hair and brown eyes, a common combination that seemed new on this unconventional beauty. The woman wasn't bone thin, like the others of her sex at the table. She was rather well-proportioned and Ezra would bet that she was the only woman in the room that couldn't count her ribs while standing. The dark green velvet dress she had on only seemed to accentuate her curves. 

He would definitely have to talk to her later, after the final hand. 

***

Julian Larabee entered the casino with some amount of trepidation. It was her first undercover assignment with the ATF and she didn't want to botch it. 

She'd only recently made contact with the man inside and she knew that it would be weeks before the arms deal would go down. 

Julian made her way around the room, chatting with all the right (or wrong, depending on your point-of-view) people. It was a task not easily accomplished. 

She had been very much by herself growing up, her horse had been her only real companion. 

Julian's parents had been killed when she was ten, leaving her eighteen year old brother, Chris, to take care of her. She'd been in the same accident as her parents and barely escaped with her life. She had been comatose for a month after the crash that had claimed both her parents lives. Had Chris not been away at college, it was likely he would have been nearly killed too. 

For almost a year after the accident, Julian didn't talk, didn't even move. Her brother had born this burden, had taken care of her, and eventually. got her back to normal again. She owed her life to her older brother. 

When she turned eighteen, she followed in the footsteps of her brother and joined the police force. When Chris had transferred to the ATF two years later, Julian had done the same. 

It wasn't really a desire to emulate her brother. It was a desire to be a part of a unit that wouldn't disintegrate in a blink of the eye. She followed her brother because there was no better place to go. 

However, how she got into the position she was now, was completely beyond her ken. 

Julian made her way through the throngs of patrons, to the poker table, the only game she was ever decent at. 

As she motioned the dealer to deal her in next hand, she noticed how strikingly gorgeous the man was. 

Light brown hair and startling emerald green eyes; It was enough to set any woman's heart all "a-flutter". And by some sick twist of fate, Julian was a woman. 

***

Ezra could feel the tension in the air roll off the two remaining poker players. The lone woman he'd noticed earlier and a small time hustler were all that remained of the ten people he'd started with an hour ago. The pot was up to well over five thousand dollars. 

"I call." said the short, balding man, whom Ezra remembered was called Cuzzilla. 

Cuzzilla laid down a straight, kings high. 

"All I have is three ladies..." the woman grimaced as she laid down her three queens. Cuzzilla smiled and reached for the pot. 

"Well, better luck next time." He began as he pulled it closer to him. 

"Wait." she said. "I don't believe you've met their escorts yet." She put downtwo kings in the table, effectively wiping the grin from the older man's face. 

Ezra would have laughed out loud at the man's misfortune, if he hadn't seen Andrea Bettanin, the "god-father", come up behind Cuzzilla and rest his hands on the man's shoulders. 

"Well, my good man," Bettanin said with a little humor in his voice, "It seems you have lost." 

The man even talked like Marlon Brando! Ezra thought. 

Cuzzilla stood up and walked away dejectedly at Bettanin's prodding. Bettanin took the now vacant seat next to the now much richer brunette. 

He took the woman's hand and kissed it. "I admire any woman that can play like that." He smiled his viper's smile at her. Ezra swore he could see a shiver run up her spine. 

Bettanin continued. "I do hope you will do me the pleasure of attending the little function I'm holding at the Waldorf on Friday night, Miss..." 

The woman smiled satisfactorily at Bettanin, she had obviously trying for this all the way long. "Julie Christenson, and I would be delighted." 

"I will look forward to seeing you there." One of Bettanin's attaches handed Julie a thin envelope, an invitation that hundreds of people in the city would sell their souls for. 

Ezra took advantage of the silence that ensued. "Ladies and gentlemen, I am afraid that was the final hand." 

After the usual moans and groans, the crowd dissipated. The woman, Julie, had left almost immediately after Ezra began. He hoped he could catch her before she left. 

Ezra made it to the lobby just in time to see the well-dressed woman get into a cab. 

Damn! he cursed to himself. There was something about her that just didn't fit. Over the years he had become a good judge of character and cold tell when someone wasn't telling the whole truth. And something about her suggested that. 

He would have to get near her Friday. 

***

To Julian Larabee, Friday night couldn't come soon enough. 

She knew she was lucky to score an invitation, it was more than she could hope for. She hoped she could use the event to gain access to Bettanin and get him for trying to purchase illegal weapons. 

She had taken all the winnings out shopping for the gala, spending all of it at Versace. If she was forced to go stag, no one would be able to say she did it without style. 

The floor length, black sequined dress had cost most of the pot. It was a halter dress, scooping low in the back and held up with a strap around her neck. She completed the outfit with jet black spike heels, a little slutty, but they looked good. 

Julian, no make that Julie (she would Have to remember that!), only hoped that she could pull this job off without messing it up. 

***

Ezra Standish entered the extravagant bash fashionably late. He was dressed impeccably in federally purchased Armani, black from head to toe. He'd ordered it tailor made, and it clung to his body in all the right places. 

When women turned to stare, he wasn't shocked. He knew what kind of figure he cut in the two thousand dollar suit, and liked it. 

Ezra immediately located Julie across the room, seated next to Bettanin, looking dejected. 

He decided to rescue her. 

"Mr. Bettanin!" he called to the man next to her. He shook hands with Bettanin and unleashed all of his Southern charm. 

"Hello Simpson, I'm glad to see you could make it." 

"Thank you sir. I must say I am most impressed with this affair. Best one I have attended in my memory." 

"Thank you Mr. Simpson." Bettanin turned to the woman seated on his left. "I was just talking with Miss Christenson. I believe the two of you met last night?" 

"Briefly, yes." Ezra agreed. 

"Well, as you are both alone here alone, why not spend the evening together?" 

It wasn't a request, they both knew it. What they couldn't understand was why it was an order. 

They bowed out quickly. 

Bettanin motioned towards one of his attaches as the pair walked away. "Keep an eye on those two. I'm not sure I trust them." 

"Of course sir." 

Bettanin sat in thought for a moment looking at the couple all in black dancing a dozen feet from him. There was something not quite right about them..." 

***

All in all it had been a pleasant evening. 

Julian found herself thoroughly enjoying the company of Mr. Simpson, or Ezra as he insisted she call him. 

She remembered how wonderful he danced, how educated he obviously was, how his hands felt on her back... 

Something about him made her very suspicious though. It was his job, she thought, and his unplacable accent. Why on earth would such a man be a dealer in a mob run casino? She could see him as a lawyer, maybe a doctor, but a dealer? The pay wasn't that good. 

She'd tried to wheedle information out of him but he hadn't been very forthcoming. She knew he'd been privately educated overseas, and that he was born to wealth was obvious in both his comfort in the expensive attire, and his education. But there was something about him that just didn't make sense. 

She shook it off. It was probably just her wishing that he wasn't really who he appeared. He was the last person she wanted to take down when she called in the bust. And if he was an innocent. 

No. She knew he wasn't. He was too at ease with the other mob bosses there, at the gala. He'd smooth talked them into giving away most of their operations. Julian had to admit that, whoever he was, he was slick. The information he'd gotten would also aid in her investigation. The mic in her earring had picked up enough of the conversations to put half of the men in the room behind bars. She'd called her partner Max an hour ago to confirm that the conversations had been taped. They had. 

But it wasn't good enough. The 'big cheese' wanted nothing less than Bettanin himself. He was prepared to bring the man down at all costs. 

Which was why she'd been delighted to know that Bettanin wanted a demonstration set up for Tuesday. 

Julian took off the expensive dress and hung it in the hotel closet. 

At least the hotel was okay she thought as she slipped into bed. The ATF had out her up, at Chris's insistence, at the Marriott, saying that no gun dealer would ever stay at the Best Western, no matter how out of work they were. 

She'd collapsed after that. Her dreams that night were filled with a dark- haired green eyed man. 

***

Ezra woke up late Tuesday morning with one hell of a hangover. 

He had gone drinking with Andrea Bettanin after the final deal last night. Apparently he had imbibed more alcohol than he had thought. 

Ezra dizzily sat up in bed, kicking his legs over the edge. It was then he noticed he was still dressed in yesterday's suit. I really did have one too many last night, he thought. 

The, almost suddenly, because nothing anyone does with a hangover can be described as sudden, Ezra ran into the bathroom where he promptly threw up. 

He lifted his head after a minute, flushed the toilet and wiped his mouth, all the while groaning. 

What I need now, he thought, is a few hundred pain relievers and a shower. 

Ezra glanced at the clock. 12:45. Shit. He had to meet Bettanin for golf at two. 

He almost jumped into the shower. 

***

Bettanin was still testing out the various assault rifles that Julian had brought over when Ezra arrived. 

Dammit! Ezra thought. Just when you begin to really like someone, you find out that they are illegal arms dealers. I really know how to pick 'em. 

"Mr. Simpson," Bettanin lay the M-16 down before finishing his sentence. "Is it two o'clock already? I do apologize for being in the middle of a business deal." 

"Oh, don't apologize on my account, sir. I am well aware of the simply odious amount of engagements one of your status must accept in order to ensure that a smoothly run venture remains so." 

"I'm glad to see your amenable to the situation. Well then," Bettanin turned back to Julian. "If you would care to join us for a round of golf, Ms. Christenson? After which you can continue with your demonstration." 

Julian readily agreed. Anything to spend more time with the man Bettanin was playing. Not to mention the fact that she might be able to gain more intelligence on Bettanin's operations in the city. 

What am I thinking? Julian thought as she climbed into the seat of the golf cart next to Bettanin, Ezra hopping in the back. The man didn't even bat an eyelash at the sight of Bettanin holding an M-16 and a pile of AK-47's on the table. And to top it off, Ezra was playing golf with the godfather of New York mafioso? if Ezra was really a dealer, Julian would eat that stupid checkered hat that Bettanin was eating. 

And yet, despite all the damning evidence against him, Julian was hesitant to damn him in her own eyes. There was something about him that screamed nobility and honesty. 

***

Ezra had enjoyed the game, even though he'd lost the game. It wasn't that he couldn't beat Bettanin, he just wasn't stupid enough to. 

The motley group (which, though all were dressed in expensive designer clothing, could only be described as such) were now back at the mansion. Ezra and Julian sat on benches in the foyer, while Bettanin was upstairs changing into "something more suitable". 

"That was a great game Mr. Simpson." Julian said, a bit nervously. 

"Not nearly as good as the game you pulled last week. Besides, I lost." 

Julian laughed. "Thanks, but it wasn't as if you lost because he played better than you." 

Ezra knew he could regret his next words for a long time. "Would you care to join me for dinner tomorrow night?" He cringed inwardly at how fake he sounded. 

Julian smiled at the well spoken man. She really liked a man that knew how to talk. "I'd be delighted." 

"I'll pick you up at your hotel at eight, then?" 

"Sounds good." Julian filled out her hotel address on the back of a card. Sha handed the small piece of paper to him as Bettanin walked down the stairs. 

"Well, Ms. Christenson! Shall we get back to our meeting?" Bettanin walked towards the back. 

"I'll see you tonight Julie." 

"Bye." As he departed, Julian couldn't help but wonder what he would say if he knew she was an ATF agent. What he would say if he knew her name wasn't Julie Christenson. 

She pushed the thought out of her mind and followed Bettanin out back. She had a crook to catch. 

***

Ezra showed up, punctualy for once, dressed to the nines in more Armani. 

When Julie opened the door he handed her the dozen red roses he'd purchased only minutes before at the florists he'd passed on the way over. When he saw the expression on her face, he was glad he'd stopped. 

Julian looked at the flowers Ezra had given her. They were beatiful and very obviously fresh. These were no supermarket checkout line flowers. They were also the first flowers anyone had ever bought her. No one, not even her boyfriend for more than five years, had bought her flowers. Every one had always said that she "just wasn't that type of girl." She was glad Ezra could see that she was. 

"I'm not quite done yet," she said when she found her voice. "Come in?" 

Ezra walked in and Julie went into the bathroom. "Sorry about the mess. I never had the time to clean up today." 

He looked around the room. Clothes, books, and cd's were scattered everywhere. His own hotel room couldn't have been more different. Ezra was meticulously clean. It seemed that Julie was meticulously not. 

"Okay." she said, stepping from the bathroom. "What do you think?" She spun around for approval. 

Ezra's mother had told him once that no matter what, no matter how the woman looked, if she had green teeth and her hair was falling out, if she asked you how she looked, tell her she looked great. Many times, especially undercover, Ezra had lied and said so. This time he didn't. 

"You look beatiful." he stated simply. 

***

They were drunk. 

After dinner at Rebecca's, the newest restaurant to open in the city, the pair had returned to Julian's hotel only to find that neither was in a particular rush to part company. 

They had sat in the bar, Ezra drinking brandy and Julian screwdrivers, for close to three hours. The barkeep had reluctantly pushed them out at one a.m. 

"Sorry, but it's closing time." he had said as he escorted them out of the smoke filled area. 

"Awlraht." Ezra replied, his southern accent more pronounced in his drunen state. 

He walked beside Julie as she made her way to the elevator, stumbling every other step. "Shit." she cursed as she fell into the now open elevator. Ezra decided to follow her up. Even intoxicated, he was well aware of the fact that Julie needed help to get to her room. 

They continued to her door, Julie fishing in her small clutch purse for her pass card. "I know I put it in here somewhere..." 

After a minute she let out an "Ah-ha!" and presented her key. "Tolgd ya." she slurred. 

After opening the door, Julie turned back to her date, giving him a seductive stare, all traces of her drunkeness gone. "Want to come in for some..coffee?" 

Ezra knew what she was offering. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure that one out. He also knew that he hadn't been with a woman in a long time and a night together with any woman, especially this one would be a welcome thing. But then, he was also well aware that this girl was involved deeply with the Bettanin godfather, and could lose his job over this. Then he remembered what his job was like. 

Consequences be damned he thought. "I would love to join you." 

***

Julian woke up the next morning with an unfamiliar weight on her shoulder. She looked down at the mused brown hair snuggled into her neck and smiled. Last night had been wonderful. Extraordinary. Breathtaking. Magical...Okay, lay off the thesaurus, Julian. She thought to herself. 

Julian slipped out the bed carefully, being sure not to wake her lover. As she stood, she gripped her head. Damn! Had she really drunk that much? 

She slowly padded her way to the bathroom, scouring the enclosed room for a bottle of advil. By the time she located the blessed bottle and exited the bath, Ezra was up. She found him sitting on the edge of her bed, pants on but unzipped, and his head in his hands. 

"You too?" she smiled, handing him the Advil. 

"Thanks." he croaked back. Julian sat on the double bed beside him, leaning on his shoulder. 

"I have to go. I've a meeting with our much esteemed boss." she whispered, not able to take the sound of a voice full force. 

Obviously agreeing with the sentiment, Ezra whispered back. "Yeah. I've got stuff to do too. Come by the casino tonight?" 

Julian knew she shouldn't. "Yeah." 

"I'll be waiting for you." 

"I know." 

***

Julian Larabee flew through her day, scarcely realizing what she was doing. She barely even noticed when Bettanin arranged for pickup and payment tonight. 

"Where is your head, Larabee? If I didn't know you better, I would say something's eating you." Her partner, Max, inquired, waiting for an answer. 

They were prepping the dingy with boxes of "guns" at the present moment. In reality, the boxes were mainly rocks and sawdust; only ten of the boxes were completely filled with actual weaponry. 

"I'm just glad this is over." 

"Right. Well it ain't over till the fat lady sings Julie, so don't get your coat just yet." Max knew something was up, but he didn't pressure her. In time, the girl would talk, she always did. He'd just have to wait this one out. 

***

Ezra was dealing yet another hand of a game he was rapidly becoming bored with, when a very worried looking Julie Christenson entered the room. Something was definitely wrong, and at this moment he would die to wipe the frown of her face. 

"What am I thinking?" Ezra grimaced as he handed three cards to a overweight gentleman of about sixty. "She's a gun runner and all you can think about is how you want to get rid of all her troubles. Admit it, Standish, you're in love with the girl." He knew it was true, and that was the worst thing of all. He knew that she shouldn't be here, not now. His team had learned that the ATF was making their bust tonight and had decided to go along with making the FBI bust as well. Ezra knew that if Julie was still here when the whole thing went down she would end up in jail. Not only that but she would probably find out that he had misled her; lied to her. If he were in her shoes now, he'd never want to speak to him again. 

Now his thoughts moved toward getting her the hell out of here. It could cost him his job, but Ezra was realist. He'd lost the job before he'd even begun. 

"If you'll excuse me a moment ladies and gentlemen, I fear I must take a breather. I shall return in five." The usual groans were lost on Ezra as he made his way across the crowded room to Julie. 

***

Julian's eyes found Ezra immediately when she walked into the large, overpacked room. He looked so confident (so damn good, she ammended) sitting at the dealer table. He looked up a moment at her and it seemed as if his eyes pierced her soul. 

"Jesus, girl! What the hell do you think you are doing? He's mafia." And after tonight he would be in prison. She was here tonight only to see him once before he went to prison. 

No, she refused to delude herself. Her entire childhood had been nothing but a delussion. The same part of her that had made the promise to see him tonight, was the same part that actually brought her here, to this place, when she should have just left like any intelligent person. But intelligence had nothing to do with this. She was here to warn him, to make him leave. It hardly crossed her mind that what she was doing for him was as bad as what he actually did. He probably wouldn't even thank her. 

But she would warn him. People do strange things in the name of love. 

***

"Julie!" he almost shouted when they met in a quick embrace by a stone pillar. When they parted, both began speaking at once. 

"Listen, you have to..." 

"Julie, you need to..." 

But it was all in vain. Whatever their next words were, they were lost to the sound of dozen men yelling, "Freeze!!! ATF!!" 

***

It was a frenzy. When the ATF had burst in, the crowd went into a panic, knocking the star- crossed lovers in opposite directions. They struggled to get back together, and were on the verge of realizing that goal when the feds burst in. What had been frenzy became complete and utter chaos. 

People were thrown to their knees by the arresting agents and handcuffed. Faces were checked to photocopied prints of the key players. The old were trampled underfoot by the overzealous and callous youth in their final bid for freedom. 

And in the end, neither Julian or Ezra could see the other. 

***

Special Agent Peters was proud of himself. He had handcuffed and thrown three men in the paddywagon on his very first bust. It was perfect. There was even one of those people you always see in the movies. You know, the ones that say they are innocent. But this one was unique to his, albeit very limited, experience. 

The green eyed man actually expected him to believe that he was a federal agent. Ha! How stupid did he think he was? Federal agent his hairy white... 

***

Julian Larabee sat uncomfortably in the gray interrogation room at the New York FBI offices. Her head hurt, her side hurt from where that...child had kicked her, and most of all, she was overwrought with guilt that she hadn't been able to get Ezra out. She had seen him shoved to the floor and handcuffed by her partner (her partner, of all people!) just moments before an FBI agent, fresh out of Quantico did the same to her. 

She had been in this wonderfully smelling room for the past three hours, and it wasn't doing her fatigued body any good. She had sat quietly and patiently explained to everyone who'd listen that she was with the ATF and that they were probably very worried about her right now. Of course, she had used different words, but the jist was the same. 

"Agent Larabee?" 

"Finally," she thought. "They've found my papers." 

"We would like to apologize for the inconvience this has caused. If there is anything we can do..." 

She was too tired for small-talk and ass-kissing. "Let me out." 

The older man smiled at her. "You're free to go." 

***

Three months later  
Atlanta, Georgia 

"Well, Standish," sneered the red headed leuitenant, "Looks like they've finally found someone who actually wants you." He laughed down at the man he never liked, flopping a thin folder on Ezra's desk. "You've a meeting with your new boss tomorrow." He chuckled as he walked away. 

Ever since the last assignment, his life had been twisted upside down. Due to the amount of time the ATF had held him, no one at the FBI believed that he was clean. In short, he was the dirtiest scum of the universe, thye just couldn't prove it. 

He sighed, fingering the folder. Another place. Again. He flipped it open. 

Ezra quickly skimmed his eyes over the top document. Undercover...Denver...Special Ops...Larabee... It all meant nothing to him, just another job that he would lose in 6 months, a year tops. 

His life seemed worse now, though, despite the fact that everything was the way it had always been. 

It was Julie. Or the lack thereof, rather. He'd pulled files from every database in the county, every woman's prison, every court, looking for a trace of the only woman he'd ever truly loved. She was no where. 

But what had he expected? A happy reunion in a field? The pair running into one another's arms to the sounds of elevator music? Not hardly. In a way, he was even glad that he couldn't find her. What would he have said? I'm sorry Julie, love, but I'm a fed and it's my fault you're here now. 

What with everyone assuming that he was on the take, it was more than he could handle. Ezra was glad for the transfer. Maybe this time would be different. Maybe this time... 

***

Denver, Colorado 

Julian Larabee sat down hard on the chair in her brother's living room. The phone dropped from her hand and clattered to the floor. 

They had to be wrong. It couldn't be. 

"Julie? What's wrong?" Chris's wife Sarah asked, taking a seat beside her. 

Julian turned to the older woman, a petrified look in her eyes. 

"I'm pregnant. With Ezra's baby." 

"Ezra was he the one...?" 

Julian nodded, falling into her sister in laws arms. 

After months of searching, she had given up. She would never see the man again. And while it had been painful, she could forget about him, given time. 

But now, she would never be able to forget him. A part of him would always be with her. 

Julian honestly didn't know if she was happy or sad. 

The End? 


End file.
